


Always with You

by stainedglasses



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Gen, M/M, a short fic from late last night maybe i'll write something real someday, anyway shoutout to my star wars dads, on the list of things i love: rewriting death scenes & being dramatic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9419147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stainedglasses/pseuds/stainedglasses
Summary: “Chirrut, come!!  Come with me!!”He turned, and the world burst under his feet.





	

Decades ago, there had been a time when he’d been able to see Baze’s face clearly.

 

They were young, then. Twelve? Thirteen? He’d lost track of the years by now--it’d always been difficult to keep track of time in NiJedha. All he remembers now is that he was blind by the age of twenty. Maybe sooner. The degeneration of his vision had been slow-moving, but it couldn’t have taken longer than six years. The monks had done all they could, but ritual and traditional medicine have their limitations, advanced medicine is rare and costly, and Chirrut was, to his own surprise, undismayed by the slow loss of his sight.

 

_“Chirrut!!”_

 

At the time, he hadn’t imagined missing the usual scenery, muted, neutrally-colored sunsets on the horizon washing Baze’s face, his hair, in a gentle gold, the way his eyes became crescents when he smiled. At the age of somethingteen, he’d figured he’d committed everything he needed to memory. To some extent, he never stopped feeling that way. Six years, at most, four at least. It was plenty of time to adjust, and his body had adjusted along with him. Blindness was never an obstacle. He has the Force, after all. He has Baze.

 

It’s hard, now, though. The bitter taste of regret is creeping into his mouth as the realization that his last memory of Baze’s face is one from decades ago creeps into his mind. But he doesn’t have to understand. The Force will do what it will. Even so, it hurts--what would he not give up for the chance to look at his oldest companion one more time?

 

“Chirrut,” Baze is rasping, “don’t go--don’t go.”

 

Chirrut is breathless.  

 

Baze’s voice lowers to a near whisper. “I’m here. I’m here.”

 

He always is.

 

“It’s okay,” Chirrut reassures, “it’s okay,” and he means it this time. His regret was for nothing. He doesn’t need his sight to know whose arms are holding him, whose lap his head rests on. He finds himself raising a hand to Baze’s face, maybe to comfort him, maybe to feel his features just once more, but his wrist is intercepted when the back of his hand finds matted hair, leaving his fingertips tingling in longing for the soft skin of Baze’s cheek. “Look for the Force,” he exhales.

 

“Chirrut?” Baze sounds fragile, suddenly. How strange. He almost thinks he’s misheard.

 

“You will always find me.” Ah, he’s running out of breath.

 

“The Force is with me. I am one with the Force.” Baze repeats it once more, and it’s all that Chirrut needs to hear to know that Baze’s long-forgotten faith had never died out in the first place. Or if it had, he’s trying to comfort Chirrut now. It’s almost like an _I love you_. It might be better. “The Force is with me, and I am one with the Force.” Baze will be okay, Force willing. It’s okay.

 

He’s too exhausted to say goodbye.


End file.
